Red as Blood
by Queen of the Perplexed
Summary: Sam and Dean head to Chicago to investigate a string of murders committed by a different kind of serial killer.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: As much as I would like to, I do not own Sam and Dean Winchester. _Supernatural _was created by Eric Kripke.

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_Well, the grandmother lived out in the forest, half an hour from the village, and as soon as Little Red Cap entered the forest, she encountered the wolf. However, Little Red Cap did not know what a wicked sort of an animal he was and was not afraid of him. ... The wolf thought to himself, This tender young thing is a juicy morsel. _

_-from "Little Red Cap" by the Brothers Grimm_

Jamie was tired. Waitressing was hard work, and, after a long night on her feet, she felt ready to fall asleep where she stood. Shaking her head to clear it, Jamie said goodnight to her manager and left the diner, breathing in the cool night air. As she walked along the darkened streets of Chicago, she thought to herself that she really ought to ask Joe for an earlier shift. She always felt uncomfortable walking home alone this late at night. At least the diner was only a few blocks away from her apartment, and the job did pay fairly well. Jamie's lips turned down in a small frown. She was trying to work her way through college, and money always seemed to be an issue. Still, she only had one more semester, and then her waitressing job would be a thing of the past.

Pausing for a red light (though she didn't really know why she bothered—the streets were empty), Jamie thought that if she hurried, she could get at least a few hours of sleep before having to get up for class in the morning. She noticed that the light had changed, so she crossed the street, listening to the sound of her footsteps as they echoed on the pavement.

She had progressed perhaps an additional fifteen feet down the poorly lit sidewalk when she froze. Had she just heard another set of footsteps in addition to hers? Reaching into her purse and wrapping her fingers around the bottle of pepper spray she kept there, Jamie began walking again and increased her pace. She turned her head for a look at the street behind her. Nothing. Not even a stray cat. Laughing softly in relief at her own paranoia, Jamie turned her attention back to where she was going—and jerked to a halt as she nearly ran into the two large figures looming in front of her.

"Hey, baby," one of the men said with a leer.

"Leave me alone," Jamie stated forcefully as she glanced around for a possible escape route.

"Don't you wanna play?" the other questioned menacingly as he tried to grab her arm. Jamie tensed, preparing to spray the threatening man in the face and run. Suddenly, another figure stepped in between Jamie and her attackers.

"I don't think the lady is interested," the third man retorted. He glanced over his shoulder at Jamie. "Are you all right?" he asked softly. Jamie nodded, her eyes wide.

From her position behind her rescuer, Jamie could see the men start to open their mouths in protest. However, something about the look the mysterious man gave them must have made them rethink whatever it was they were about to say, because after exchanging a glance between themselves, the two men were soon running in the opposite direction.

Jamie slowly let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "Thanks," she said, looking up at her savior.

He offered her a small smile. "It's not safe for a lovely lady such as yourself to be walking alone at night in the city. Allow me to walk you home?"

"Sure," Jamie replied. What could it hurt? After all, he'd already saved her from her would-be attackers; how dangerous could he be?

Jamie took the arm he offered her, and the two of them walked toward her apartment together.

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The sun was barely visible through the clouds as Billy hurried to school the next morning. He was going to be late. He just knew it. And he _couldn't _be late again. Mrs. Smith had explained it all very clearly to him earlier that week. One more tardy, and he would be spending his summer vacation at the junior high, listening to her drone on and on about British literature – a fate worse than death. It was imperative that he make it to school on time.

Slipping down an alleyway which he had used as a shortcut before, Billy thought about how wonderful his life would be after he finished Mrs. Smith's awful class. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost tripped over a shoe someone had inconveniently left lying right in the middle of his path. Scowling, Billy glared at the offending shoe and reached down to toss it out of the way. He frowned as he realized that the shoe was actually still being worn by someone.

Taking a closer look, Billy gasped as his gaze fell on a red-haired woman, a red ribbon tied tightly around her neck and her mouth frozen in a silent scream. Her unseeing blue eyes gazed at him entreatingly. Eyes wide, Billy ran to call 911 and report the dead waitress. Mrs. Smith's class would just have to wait.

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The parking lot of the only bar in Paxton, Illinois wasn't particularly crowded. It was a Thursday afternoon, and the people of the small town generally limited the majority of their drinking to the weekends. Inside, Sam and Dean Winchester sat at a battered table that looked as if it had seen better days. As Sam perused the Chicago Sun-Times and sipped his Shiner Bock, his brother eyed their waitress.

"Think she's single?" Dean asked; he caught the waitress's attention and gave her one of his signature grins.

Sam rolled his eyes and returned to reading the paper.

"Find anything good in there?"

"Not unless you include an old lady who thinks her dead poodle's been speaking to her from 'beyond the grave,'" Sam replied.

Dean gave him an incredulous look. "Dude, that's just crazy."

"Tell me about it. We haven't come across anything remotely suspicious in days."

"Maybe it just means we're due for a break," Dean said, turning in his chair slightly to wink at the waitress.

Sam shook his head in amusement, but then his face sobered. "I don't know, Dean. Don't you think it seems kind of odd?"

"_I_ think…" Dean's words trailed off as his attention was captured by a news report blaring from one of the many televisions positioned around the bar:

"The body of Chicago waitress Jamie Price was found early Wednesday morning in the alleyway behind her apartment complex. She was apparently strangled using a red ribbon. Jamie Price's murder is strikingly similar to the death of another woman who was killed two weeks ago. Interestingly, the murders parallel the method used by a serial killer active in the Chicago area twenty years ago. The so-called Red Ribbon Strangler was never apprehended…"

"Huh. Sound familiar?" Dean asked his brother.

"Not really. Should it?"

"I'm not sure." Dean pulled their father's old journal out of his jacket pocket and began to flip through it, pausing every now and then to examine some pages more closely than others.

"Here," he said, handing the journal to Sam and pointing out several articles pasted onto its pages.

Sam frowned at the newspaper clippings. "Dad saved the articles about the Red Ribbon Strangler?"

Dean nodded. "Guess this guy's more than just your run-of-the-mill serial killer."

"Apparently so. Well, it looks like we're going to Chicago."

Both men got up from the table and walked toward the door. Dean cast one last glance back at the pretty waitress.

"So much for my vacation."


	2. Chapter 2

The Winchester brothers' black Chevy Impala pulled up in front of Joe's Diner just as the dinner crowd was beginning to die down.

"I can't believe it took us so long to get here," Dean said with a scowl.

Sam laughed. "Even your driving is no match for Chicago traffic."

"Guess so, but making a hundred-mile trip in three and a half hours is just ridiculous." Dean shook his head. "What was that waitress's name again?"

"Jamie Price," Sam answered.

"Okay. Let's go inside and see if we can figure out what happened to Jamie."

The two of them got out of the car and stepped into the cheerful little restaurant. The diner's interior was bright and friendly, and oldies were playing from an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. A few customers still sat scattered throughout the brightly-colored booths that lined the walls, but, for the most part, the brothers had the place to themselves.

Sam and Dean approached an older man standing behind the register. "How can I help you boys?" he asked them.

"We'd like to speak to the manager," Sam said politely.

"That's me. I'm Joe Trevino." A concerned look came across the gray-haired man's features. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Not exactly," Dean answered, flashing a fake police badge. "I'm Officer Williams." He pointed his thumb at Sam. "And this is Officer… Palinowski. We're investigating the murder of Jamie Price."

Joe sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's terrible, just terrible, what happened to her. Jamie was such a nice girl…almost through with college. Had her whole life ahead of her."

Sam offered Joe a sympathetic look. "How long had you known Jamie?"

"About five years. She'd been working here since before she graduated from high school. She always was a bright girl." Joe shook his head sadly.

"Were you working the night she was killed?" Dean asked.

"I was. I shouldn't have let her walk home alone that night, but how was I to know?"

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary before she left? Anything that struck you as strange?" Sam queried.

Joe furrowed his brow slightly. "I've been asking myself that question since I first heard what happened. I just can't think of anything odd. Nobody strange hanging around. The only thing that stands out about that day was a big dog a couple of the busboys chased away from the dumpsters in the back alley. Mean-looking thing."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What did this dog look like?"

"I'd say it was either black or dark gray. Hard to tell, it was so dark. What does a stray dog have to do with Jamie anyway?"

"We're just trying to get a good idea of everything that happened that night," Sam said gently. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Trevino." He pulled out a piece of paper and, after scribbling his number on it, handed it to Joe. "Let us know if you think of anything else."

"I will."

The brothers turned and began heading toward the exit.

"I hope you catch the one who did this!" Joe called after them.

"So do I," Dean murmured. "So do I.

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"So, what do you make of that story about the big dog? Think it could have something to do with Jamie?" Dean asked his brother after they had gotten into the car.

"It definitely sounds suspicious. Do you think it was a black dog?"

"Well, black dogs are usually death portents, but I'm pretty sure they're only seen by the person who's about to die," Dean answered.

"Okay, so that's out. And it couldn't have been a werewolf," Sam added. "They usually tear their victims to pieces."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, they definitely don't strangle them. Of course, that dog Joe saw could have just been a stray…." He paused. "Who am I kidding? When was the last time we had a coincidence like that?"

"Remember the cat you thought was possessed when we were trying to get rid of that poltergeist in Ohio a few months back?" Sam asked, smirking.

Dean grimaced. "Don't remind me. I've still got the scratches from that stupid thing."

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Patricia Stephenson meandered down a darkened sidewalk, weaving back and forth slightly as she walked. She had to admit, she did enjoy parties, and tonight's festivities had been especially entertaining. The beer had been abundant, the music pleasant, and the men…. She smiled to herself. The men had been good-looking, to say the least. Or maybe that was just the beer talking. In any case, Patricia had already decided that when Jeremy threw a party again, she would have to attend.

She stopped to take a drink from her bottle of Miller Lite and took a look around her. She knew how dangerous the streets could be after dark, and she had heard there was a serial killer on the loose. "Any crazy psychos out there?" Patricia called with a drunken giggle. Nope. Nobody in sight. She raised a hand to her face and brushed her shaggy red hair out of her eyes, sighing. She really needed a haircut.

Patricia resumed her ambling walk. She stumbled, not really paying attention to where she was going, and cursed as she realized that she had broken one of her heels in the uneven sidewalk. Reaching down to take off her shoes, she lost her balance and would have fallen over if it hadn't been for a steadying hand on her arm.

Looking up slightly, Patricia caught sight of a handsome face near hers. "Hello, gorgeous," she slurred.

"Hello. Might I escort you home?" he asked.

Patricia grinned. "You'd do that for me?"

"Anything for you, my dear."

He helped Patricia to her feet, and she leaned heavily on his arm.

"Well, if you insist," Patricia said, giggling.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun shone brightly Friday morning as the Winchester brothers walked along downtown State Street. Around them, people rushed to work and to various other destinations as the sound of morning traffic filled the air.

"How far did you say this library was?" Dean asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard above the surrounding noises.

Sam stepped aside to let a woman in a business suit go around him and consulted a map that he pulled out of his jacket pocket. "Shouldn't be much farther."

"Are you sure we haven't passed it already?" Dean questioned

"Pretty sure. Actually, it should be…" Sam pulled Dean to a halt, pointing to the enormous neo-classical building on their right, "…right there."

Dean's eyes widened as he gazed at the huge monstrosity before him. "Dude, _that's_ the library? I thought it was city hall or something."

Sam smiled slightly. "No, that's the Harold Washington Library. It's the largest public library building in the world."

Dean gave him an incredulous look. "How do you know these things? Sometimes I swear I have an encyclopedia for a brother."

Sam started walking toward the entrance. "C'mon. We need to do some research on the Red Ribbon Strangler."

Dean sighed. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Dean watched as a pretty girl in a red suit walked into the library through the door Sam was holding open. Dean followed close behind, smirking as he entered the library.

"So, how 'bout that research, Sammy?"

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Three hours later, the brothers were still sitting at two of the computer terminals on the library's third floor. Sam looked intently at his computer and busily typed commands into the keyboard; beside him, Dean had his elbows on the desk, propping up his head in his hands and staring at the computer screen with a somewhat glazed look on his face.

Abruptly, Sam stopped typing and tilted his head thoughtfully. He then reached over and tapped his brother on the shoulder. Dean, whose head had been starting to nod, came to his senses with a start.

"What?"

"Dean, check this out," Sam said, gesturing to his computer screen.

Dean leaned over to get a better look. "Does that mean what I think it means?" he asked after surveying the articles Sam had found.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, there are periodic strings of murders fitting the same M.O. that go back for years. All the girls have red hair and were strangled with a red ribbon. The only difference is when they lived, which is probably why nobody's noticed 'til now."

Dean pulled out their father's journal and looked at the pages he had marked. "Dad must've known something was up. When did the murders start?"

"The earliest date I could find was in 1893, during the Chicago World's Fair."

"So we've got murders that go back for over a hundred years. Great. Any idea of how to catch whatever's doing this?" Dean asked.

"Well, all the victims over the past fifty years were killed downtown within a one mile radius of Michigan Avenue. Maybe we should start there," Sam answered.

Dean's attention was caught by a copy of the _Chicago Sun-Times_ lying on a nearby table. "Or maybe, we should start there," he said, pointing at the newspaper. The front headline read "Red Ribbon Strangler Strikes Again."

Sam gazed at the article. "Looks like we've got a crime scene to investigate."

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By the time Sam and Dean arrived at the alley where Patricia Stephenson's body was discovered, the police had already finished investigating the area. Ducking under the yellow crime-scene tape, the two of them began to search the narrow alleyway for clues.

"Anything on the EMF detector, Dean?" Sam asked as he tried to avoid stepping in a puddle and almost tripped over a cardboard box instead.

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Reading's normal, so it wasn't a spirit that killed her."

Sam frowned and began to examine the ground around the chalk outline of the body. "Dean, I think you'd better come have a look at this," he called.

Dean walked to Sam's side and followed his brother's gaze, which was riveted on a portion of ground adjacent to where the body was found. "Dude, those are some big paw prints."

"No joke. I don't think I've ever seen paw prints that big," Sam replied.

Dean slowly walked around the area, taking care not to obscure the muddy prints. "You know, Sam, I've been thinking…"

Sam laughed. "You? Think?"

"Shut up," Dean growled.

Sam grinned, but his face soon sobered, and he prompted Dean to continue. "Seriously though, you think…?"

Dean shifted his weight slightly. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but think about it. First there was that big dog they chased off at Joe's. Then we figured out all the victims had red hair. Now we find paw prints here…," Dean trailed off.

"Yeah…," Sam drew the word out, trying to think through what Dean was trying to say.

"That doesn't remind you of anything?"

"No…. Is it supposed to?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Do I have to spell everything out for you?"

Silence.

Dean exhaled loudly in frustration. "It's just like 'Little Red Riding Hood,' man."

Sam's shoulders began to shake with laughter. "You're telling me…that the Red Ribbon Strangler…," More laughter. "…is the Big Bad Wolf?"

"Dude, stranger things have happened."

Sam gradually managed to still his laughter and looked at Dean pensively. "You know," he mused, "you might be on to something. We could be dealing with a shapeshifter."

Dean nodded. "Shapeshifters tend to be pretty long-lived. Could explain why the killings go so far back. But why red-haired girls?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe he thinks he's living out the legend."

"Anything's possible," Dean assented.

"The only thing I really don't understand is why he strangles them. You'd think a shapeshifter would tear them apart, just like a werewolf would."

"I don't know. Remember, people become werewolves when they get bitten by one. They can't control when they change or what they do as wolves. But shapeshifters are born the way they are and have more control over their animal forms. Maybe the way the Strangler is killing these girls has something to do with that."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I don't guess it really matters as long as we stop it."

The Winchester brothers walked a block down the street to where the Impala was parked. After they had gotten in the car, they met each other's eyes. "We've got some hunting to do," Dean said.


	4. Chapter 4

**May 28th Update** - I just changed the rounds in the guns from iron to silver, so there's no need to reread. I don't know what I was thinking the other day! Sorry!

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Anne had never been to the city before. She and her older brother had grown up in Ravenna, Nebraska, a small town with a population of less than 1,500 people. The two of them had always been close, but the summer Anne turned sixteen, Ben had left, going in search of something bigger and better than what Ravenna could offer. His path had eventually led him to Chicago, and although they had kept in touch by phone, Anne hadn't seen him since.

As she stepped off of the train in Union Station, Anne smiled to herself. Everything was about to change. Earlier that week, she had made the spur of the moment decision to pay her brother a visit for his birthday. Ben had readily agreed, in spite of the short notice. So here she was, in Chicago.

Outside the station, Anne observed the bustle around her with a certain amount of fascination. She hailed one of the many cabs speeding down the street and grinned as it stopped next to the curb in front of her. She had never ridden in a taxi before. Inside, she gave the cabbie her brother's address and concentrated on enjoying her first cab ride.

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After the cab pulled up in front of Ben's apartment building, Anne quickly paid the cabbie and exited the car, content for the moment to have her feet on solid ground. After five minutes in what she was already referring to as "The Taxi Ride from Hell," she had decided that riding in a taxi certainly wasn't all it was rumored to be. It was exciting, but the high speeds and the blatant disregard for the surrounding traffic had been somewhat nerve-wracking.

When she had finally assured herself that she wasn't going to lose her dinner, Anne walked up to the door of the building and rang the bell to her brother's apartment. After waiting for a few moments without receiving a response, she tried again. Still no answer.

Sighing in frustration, Anne sank down to the sidewalk to sit and wait. She knew she should have invested in a cell phone! She rested her head in her hands, allowing her red hair to fall around her face.

Anne had almost begun to doze when she was startled into wakefulness by a hand on her shoulder. She quickly looked up at the person beside her and was confronted by the kind face of an elderly lady.

"You must be Anne," the woman said with a gentle smile. "I'm Mrs. Macalister, your brother's next-door-neighbor. I recognized you from his photos of the two of you. You look just like him, you know."

Anne rose to her feet and offered Mrs. Macalister her hand. "It's very nice to meet you. Do you by any chance know where Ben is?"

Mrs. Macalister nodded. "Ben said he had to take someone else's shift tonight; there was no one else to do it. He was very upset about it and wanted me to tell you how sorry he was if I saw you."

"Did he say how late he'd be working?" Anne asked.

"He's closing tonight. Probably won't be back until around three in the morning. You're welcome to wait in my apartment if you'd like."

Anne smiled appreciatively but shook her head. "I'd hate to be an inconvenience, Mrs. Macalister, and I haven't had dinner yet. I think I'll just meet him at the restaurant."

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Macalister asked doubtfully.

"Positive," Anne told her confidently.

"Well, be sure to take a cab, then. I don't want to scare you, dear, but Chicago isn't a safe place for a girl to be alone at night."

"All right, ma'am. I'll be careful," Anne replied. She wished Mrs. Macalister a good night and watched as the elderly woman disappeared inside the building. She then began to stride down the dimly-lit sidewalk, her previous taxi-ride fresh in her mind. She would rather take her chances walking. Ben worked at one of the many restaurants on the Navy Pier, which was only about a mile and a half away. She would be there in no time.

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Their shotguns loaded with silver rounds, the Winchester brothers cruised the streets of downtown Chicago, alert for signs of their shapeshifting quarry. As soon as the sun had set, a thick fog had begun to roll in off the lake, and most of Dean's attention was focused on maneuvering the Impala through it.

"See anything suspicious?" Dean asked.

Peering through the window, Sam replied, "No, I don't see—wait—pull over, Dean."

As the car rolled to a stop, the brothers were able to discern two figures arguing on the sidewalk, one a large man, the other a red-haired woman. The man seemed to loom over the small woman aggressively, his hand wrapped around her wrist.

Sam reached over to open his door, but was stopped by Dean's hand on his arm.

"Don't forget—it has to be shot in its human form to be killed."

Sam turned to glare at his brother. "Yeah, I know, Dean."

Dean shrugged innocently. "It never hurts to double check."

"Shut up."

With that exchange, the two of them flung open the doors of the Impala, shotguns drawn, and rapidly approached the arguing couple.

"Run!" Sam shouted at the woman, who seemed to be frozen where she stood, looking at him fearfully.

Dean stood with his shotgun leveled at the previously menacing man, who now had tears in his eyes. Dean glanced over at the terrified woman.

"Get her out of here, Sam!"

At this, the man spoke, "Please, I'll give you all the money I have. Just don't hurt Sandy."

Sam and Dean exchanged confused looks. It was then that Sam noticed the packet of papers each of them was holding.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing.

The man held up the papers. "This is the script of a play we were going to try out for. Actually, we were practicing for it just now." He offered it to Dean, his hand shaking. "You can have it if you want it."

Dean ignored the proffered script and instead strode back to the car. "I can't believe this," he muttered angrily. He slid into his seat and slammed the door behind him.

Thinking on his feet, Sam pulled out one of the badges Dean had given him. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir." He nodded toward the woman. "Ma'am. I'm Officer Jones. My partner and I were on patrol, and we spotted you arguing here. Sir, we mistook you for a suspect we're trying to apprehend…."

After a few minutes of reassuring the terrified couple, Sam returned to the Impala. Taking his seat, he turned to scowl at Dean. "Thanks for abandoning me," he said sarcastically.

Dean returned his brother's glare. "You got us into that one."

Sam shook his head emphatically. "That _so_ wasn't my fault."

"Wanna make a bet?" Dean asked forebodingly as he started the engine.

"You're the one who was threatening those people with a shotgun."

Dean glowered at his brother, unconvinced. "So were you, you moron! Why didn't you notice the scripts they were holding?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, so that was supposed to be my responsibility?"

"Well, I was driving…."

The Winchester brothers' bickering continued as they resumed their patrol.

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**Author's Note:** I just wanted to thank everyone who's reviewed so far; your feedback is really appreciated. I hope you don't think Sam and Dean's misadventure in this chapter was too silly--I had a lot of fun writing it! And, as always, thanks to Chelsey for her amazing beta-reading skills; she has an awful lot of patience...


	5. Chapter 5

Surrounded by dense fog, Anne was beginning to think that the decision to walk to the restaurant hadn't been one of her brightest ideas. The busy evening traffic had dissipated, and she felt slightly isolated. Still, she had been walking for quite some time and knew she should be getting close to the Navy Pier. She increased her pace anyway, uncomfortable and eager to reach her destination.

As she strode down the unfamiliar sidewalk, Anne consulted a city map she had purchased at Union Station. She frowned, realizing she must have missed a turn. Anne looked around to get her bearings but was unable to discern any street signs through the oppressive mist. In fact, she could barely make out the sidewalk in front of her.

Clenching her jaw in irritation, she perused the map more closely and tried to remember the name of the last street she had crossed. It was then that she felt a strange chill run up her spine, almost as if she were being watched. Anne swung around swiftly, but there was no one to be seen through the enveloping fog.

Somewhat nervous now, Anne returned her attention to figuring out where she was. The map was no help, and her frustration continued to build as she realized she needed to ask for directions. Anne shoved the map into her purse and was startled by a hand on her shoulder. She took a step back and looked up at the well-dressed man beside her. He was handsome, with blue eyes and steely gray hair that somehow served to make him appear even more distinguished.

"You seem to be a bit lost, my dear. Might I offer you my assistance?" he asked, his voice smooth and low.

Anne sighed in relief. "I'm on my way to the Navy Pier; if you could just point me in the right direction…."

"Certainly," the man replied. He proceeded to give her directions, using the map to illustrate his instructions. Anne listened to his words, nodding occasionally in understanding. She hadn't been quite as lost as she had thought.

When he had finished, Anne offered him a grateful smile. "Thanks so much," she said. "I think I can find it now."

"Would you like me to walk you there?" he inquired.

Anne thought about it for a moment; the man had been generous to a fault. She hated to inconvenience him, and she felt a little uncomfortable about being accompanied by a stranger, no matter how chivalrous he had been.

"No, thanks," Anne refused gently. "With your directions, I should be able to make it just fine."

The man shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid, my dear, that refusal is not an option."

"What?" Anne asked, slightly unnerved. It was then that she noticed his eyes. Their pale blue color had changed to a predatory yellow. Anne gave a small gasp, and she saw his mouth open into a grin that displayed sharp canine teeth.

Twisting away from his frightening visage, Anne ran for her life.

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It had taken about an hour, but Sam and Dean had finally stopped arguing about their most recent misadventure. The fog had continued to thicken, and Dean was having even more trouble negotiating the barely visible streets. Beside him, Sam was once more scouring the sidewalks for signs of shapeshifters and damsels in distress. The fog was making his task a difficult one.

Dean diverted his attention from the road just long enough to glance at his brother. "See any more people holding scripts out there, Sammy?" he asked sarcastically.

Sam wisely chose not to answer.

Frowning almost imperceptibly, Dean turned up the music and focused on driving. Several minutes passed with no sound except for that of the Blue Öyster Cult cassette that blared from the Impala's speakers.

Sam began to grow weary of staring out the passenger window, so he turned to address his brother. He raised his voice to be heard over the music.

"Dean!"

"What?" Dean asked, reluctantly turning the stereo down.

"It's getting kind of late, and we haven't seen anything." Sam shook his head tiredly. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong place."

"What're you talking about?" Dan asked, furrowing his brow slightly. "All the murders have happened in this area. We must be—SHIT!" Dean cried, slamming on the brake to avoid hitting the red-haired woman who had just darted in front of the car. She was followed by a taller male figure whose yellow eyes gleamed in the car's headlights.

The woman began to pound frantically on Dean's window.

"Shoot it, Sam!" Dean yelled as he reached to open the back door. He turned his attention to the distraught woman. "Get in!"

Sam took careful aim at the menacing figure and fired. The woman, who had clambered into the backseat, flinched at the shotgun's angry retort.

While Dean tried to soothe the terrified woman, Sam stared in shock at the swiftly advancing shapeshifter. It had jerked as the silver round pierced its chest, but, after a swift shake of its head, it had resumed its rapid progress toward the car.

"Dean, we have a problem!"

Turning away from the figure huddled in the backseat, Dean focused on his brother. "What now, Sammy?" he asked irritatedly.

"The silver shells aren't working, Dean!" To illustrate his point, Sam leaned out the passenger window and fired another round into the shapeshifter. Once again, it was unaffected.

Dean blinked his eyes several times, clearly stunned. "What the…." Shaking himself out of his stupor, Dean floored the gas pedal, and the Impala jerked into motion, tires squealing in protest, and sped past the threatening shapeshifter. Glancing at the receding figure in the rearview mirror, Dean saw a large gray wolf instead of a human shape.

Sam set the shotgun in his lap. "That didn't go as well as we'd hoped."


	6. Chapter 6

The Winchester brothers' Impala flew down the darkened Chicago streets. In the backseat, Sam and Dean's passenger still seemed a bit stunned. "What was that thing?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Sam turned around in his seat to face her. "At this point, we're not entirely sure." He paused, letting the frustrated statement hang for a moment. When he spoke again, it was more gently. "What's your name?"

"Anne," she replied, feeling herself start to relax with the return to normal conversation.

"Okay, Anne. I'm Sam Winchester." He nodded toward Dean. "And this is my brother, Dean."

Dean offered her a wink in the rearview mirror. "Is there somewhere you want us to drop you off?" he asked.

Anne nodded. "I was on my way to visit my brother. He works at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. on the Navy Pier…," she said, her voice trailing off uncertainly.

"Not a problem," Dean responded. In an aside to Sam, he muttered, "We've already passed it three times tonight."

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Dean parked the car down the street from the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., and the three of them approached the restaurant together. When they reached the entrance, Anne stopped and addressed the brothers.

"Why don't the two of you come in?" she suggested. "I'll buy you dinner—it's the least I can do."

Sam shook his head. "We really ought to be--" Sam's attempted refusal was cut off by Dean's elbow in his ribs.

Dean gave Anne one of his most winning grins. "We'd like that," he answered.

Anne offered him a small smile in return, and Sam held the door open for her as she entered the restaurant.

As Dean passed through the doorway, he gave his brother an admonishing look. "Never refuse free food from a pretty lady," he advised.

Sam rolled his eyes and followed his brother inside.

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Anne was quickly spotted by her brother, who was cleaning a booth near the door. Ben smiled in delight to see his sister for the first time in six years. As he drew nearer to her, however, Ben's joy was tempered by her disheveled appearance.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," Anne murmured.

Now even more concerned, Ben pulled his sister into a tight hug and gazed suspiciously at the two men who had accompanied her inside.

Anne stepped back to get a better look at her brother and noticed the examination he was giving Sam and Dean.

"Ben, these are my friends, Sam and Dean Winchester; they really helped me out earlier."

The look on Ben's face was skeptical, to say the least.

Anne sighed and led Ben out of earshot as she began to explain the night's events.

Left alone, Sam and Dean slid into a booth and started discussing what had happened earlier.

Dean leaned his elbows on the table. "I thought silver bullets were pretty much fool-proof for shapeshifters."

Sam sighed. "So did I. I guess we were wrong." He paused. "I do know one thing, though." He looked over at Anne, who was having an intense conversation with her brother. "That thing is going to keep coming after her unless we do something about it."

Dean nodded in agreement. "The question is: how do we kill it?"

The brothers began discussing non-supernatural matters as one of the waitresses approached their table, and they ordered their meals. After she had left, they picked up their original conversation.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe we missed something."

"Maybe," Dean assented.

While they waited for their food, the two of them carefully began to review what they knew about the Red Ribbon Strangler.

The Winchesters were so involved in their discussion that they didn't notice Anne slip into the booth behind them. She had approached them with the intention of thanking them once again for their help; she didn't try to fool herself—if she hadn't encountered Dean and Sam Winchester tonight, she wouldn't be alive.

Anne sat quietly for a moment, not wishing to interrupt their conversation but unable to help eavesdropping. She furrowed her brow as she tried to process what they were saying. Normally, she would have dismissed this sort of talk as nonsense, but considering that she had just been attacked by a man with glowing yellow eyes and pointed teeth, she reluctantly decided she ought to give the Winchester brothers the benefit of the doubt. For now, at least. Besides, something about their discussion was starting to nag at her…

The brothers' conversation about the Red Ribbon Strangler wasn't getting very far. They had gone over everything they could remember about the shapeshifter but had had little new insight into its lack of reaction to silver.

"This whole thing doesn't make any sense, Dean," Sam said, frowning.

"I'm with you there, Sam," Dean agreed. "What kind of shapeshifter is immune to silver?" He paused. "We could always try salting and burning it…"

Sam looked at Dean as if he had lost his mind. "Dude, it's a shapeshifter, not a spirit."

"Oh, and I suppose you've got a better idea?"

Realizing that there was an argument brewing, Anne chose that moment to interrupt.

"Sam. Dean."

The brothers looked over at her in surprise.

"Anne, we didn't realize you were there…" Sam started, appearing slightly embarrassed.

She looked down briefly, feeling somewhat embarrassed herself—she didn't usually indulge in eavesdropping. "I'm sorry guys, but I couldn't help but overhear some of what you were saying a minute ago, and it reminded me of something." Anne stopped talking to see if they would object. When they displayed no obvious signs of protest, she continued. "First, let me ask you a question."

"Okay, shoot," Dean responded.

"How is it that the two of you know so much about this stuff? You do realize that most people would refer to you as 'a few fries short of a Happy Meal,' don't you?" Anne looked at them intently, waiting to see what their answer would be.

Sam and Dean exchanged a meaningful glance. However, as much as it irritated her, Anne was unable to decipher it.

"You could say that it's part of the family business," Sam answered vaguely, returning his focus to Anne, who was frowning at the two of them.

"You aren't going to give me a straight answer, are you?"

"Nope," Dean smirked. He had stretched out his arms across the back of the booth and was leaning back in satisfaction.

Anne shook her head at Dean's smugness. "The two of you saved my life, for which I'm very grateful, so I suppose I ought to tell you what I thought of a minute ago. Although you _are_ being awfully elusive," she said, directing her final comment toward Dean. She hesitated for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "You said this thing seemed to be following the 'Little Red Riding Hood' tale, right?" Anne asked.

Sam nodded in affirmation.

"Well, I don't know much about shapeshifters, or whatever you say this thing is, but I was really into folktales in high school." She paused again, wondering if she was about to make a fool out of herself.

"Go on," Dean encouraged.

Anne took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "It's just that fairy-tale creatures have an affinity for silver. If this 'shapeshifter' is like the wolf in 'Little Red Riding Hood,' silver won't hurt it at all."

"That actually makes a lot of sense," Sam said, his head cocked thoughtfully.

Dean nodded, agreeing with his brother, and addressed Anne: "Got any ideas about how we _can_ kill it?"

"Well… most of the beings in fairy-tales can be bound by iron. You might try iron bullets," Anne suggested, her tone doubtful.

Sam looked over at his brother. "I think that might work, Dean." He smiled at Anne, making good use of his schoolboy charm. "Thanks, Anne."

"I'm just glad I could help, even if the two of you are crazy." She smiled slightly, but her face quickly grew sober. "If there's anything else I can do, let me know," Anne told them seriously. "I'm going to go see if Ben needs any help with those tables." She got up from the booth she had been sitting in and ventured across the restaurant toward her brother.

A few moments passed before Sam addressed Dean. "All right, so now we know how to kill the shapeshifter. But how are we going to find it again before someone else gets hurt?"

Dean cast a glance at Anne, who was helping Ben carry dirty dishes back to the kitchen. "I've got an idea, but I don't think you're going to like it."

Sam saw where his brother was looking. "Dean, no. She's in enough danger as it is."

"Sam," Dean growled, his voice laced with frustration, "If we don't kill this thing soon, she's going to be in a lot worse trouble than she's in now. It won't stop until it has her."

Sam frowned. "You're right," he gave in, "but I still don't like it."

"Neither do I, but it's our best shot." Dean caught Anne's attention, and she walked over to their booth. Standing next to the table, she looked down curiously at the two seated men.

"Anne, we've thought of a way that you might be able to help us," Dean said.

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**Author's Note: **Hello! I hope you've enjoyed the sixth chapter of "Red as Blood." As my beta could tell you, I had a difficult time in this chapter trying to keep Anne from becoming a Mary Sue. How successful was I? Feedback is a beautiful thing!

As much as it pains me to tell you this, faithful readers, I'm going out of the country for about five weeks beginning next week, and while I'm gone, there's little chance of "Red as Blood" being updated. Never fear! I still intend to finish it, but it will have to wait until my return in July. I _might _have the seventh chapter up before I leave next week, but I can make no promises (the next several days are going to be pretty hectic). So, I apologize for the wait!


	7. Chapter 7

Dean and Sam quickly explained their plan, and Anne stared at them blankly as she tried to comprehend their request. _Surely they couldn't mean…_ Coming to her senses, Anne exclaimed, "You want me to act as bait for a serial killer?!"

Dean smiled slightly, but the solemn look in his eyes betrayed the seriousness of the situation. "You hit the nail on the head," he told her, watching carefully to see how she would react.

Anne shook her head emphatically. "I can't do that."

"It's the only way we'll be able to find the shapeshifter in time before something worse happens," Sam explained apologetically.

Anne sighed. "I'm really grateful to the two of you, and I'll never forget what you've done for me tonight, but I just can't help you." She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. "Look, you're supposed to be used to hunting things like this, right?"

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Anne went on before he could say anything.

"Then you should be able to find it; you don't need me to help you," she finished.

"Anne, it's not that simple," Sam told her, his voice gentle.

Dean nodded in agreement. "We don't want to scare you, but this thing is going to keep tracking you until it finds you, and we'd prefer to be there when it does."

Her face pale, Anne pulled up a chair from a neighboring table and sat down, bending over slightly so that her red hair fell forward, forming a curtain between her and the Winchester brothers. The three of them sat quietly, each lost in his own thoughts.

Finally, Anne sat up. "You're absolutely sure this is the only way?" she asked, giving Sam and Dean a hard look.

"Yes," Sam answered regretfully, concern apparent in his voice.

Anne sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "As much as I'd like to crawl in a hole somewhere and hide, I can see that that's not going to be effective. I guess that means my only option is to help you."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look of relief. Their hare-brained scheme might work after all.

"Thanks, Anne," Sam said, his tone still serious.

Dean offered her one of his dazzling grins. "You won't regret this." He returned his attention to Sam, all business. "Let's get this show on the road."

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For the second time that night, Anne walked alone down a darkened Chicago Street. She tried to keep her pace even and maintain a semblance of calm, but, since she jumped at every little sound, she doubted that she was fooling anyone. Or anything.

Anne quickly glanced around, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. She balled her hands into fists in an effort to keep them from shaking and thought about her brother. After agreeing to help the Winchesters, she had feigned exhaustion and told Ben that the two of them had offered to take her back to Ben's apartment. Ben had offered her his keys without question and apologized for not being able to take her himself. Anne felt guilty about misleading her brother, but telling him the truth would have led to objections they didn't have time to deal with.

Anne listened carefully for sounds of pursuit. There was no sign of Sam and Dean, perhaps a good thing, she reasoned. If she couldn't detect them, maybe the shapeshifter couldn't either. Sam and Dean had dropped her off a few blocks back and told her to walk casually back toward her brother's apartment. _Easy for them to say. _In spite of their repeated assurances that they would be nearby making sure she was safe, Anne still felt extremely uneasy. She shivered and bit her lip, hoping everything would be over soon.

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The Winchester brothers followed Anne at a safe distance, staying just close enough to keep her from disappearing in the fog. They had traded their shotguns for a pair of handguns from the Impala's arsenal; both knew that the greater accuracy of the smaller weapons would offer more safety for the woman they were trying to protect than the larger spread of the shotguns.

Sam scanned the fog for signs of the shapeshifter. "I really hope this works, man," he told Dean, hating the fact that they were deliberately putting an innocent woman in harm's way.

"It'll work," Dean said, trying to make his voice sound more confident than he felt. He patted the jacket pocket that held his gun. "We've got our magic bullets." He paused, seeing something move in his peripheral vision. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah. It looked like a wolf. Do you think that's our shapeshifter?"

Dean nodded. "I'd put money on it."

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Anne continued down the ill-lighted sidewalk, her discomfort growing by the minute. She paused briefly before regaining her self-control and resuming her stroll down the street. She was sure she had just heard something move behind her. It hadn't sounded human. More like a dog. A very _large_ dog.

Her boring days in Ravenna held a sudden, undeniable appeal. "Why couldn't I have stayed in Nebraska?" she muttered.

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Several hundred feet behind Anne, Sam and Dean saw the dark silhouette of the wolf moving along the edge of the street, and they cautiously began to close the distance between themselves and the woman.

Suddenly, the wolf-shape vanished, and in its place walked what appeared to be a man. Surprised looks came over the brothers' faces.

"Holy shit!" Dean exclaimed. "We need to move now, Sammy."

Sam nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Let's--"

"Freeze!" came a gruff voice from behind them. "Put your hands up and turn around slowly."

"Evening, officer," Sam said as he turned to face the patrolman.

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Anne slowed her pace slightly, listening for sounds of pursuit. Nothing. Maybe that dog had just been a stray; after all; she hadn't heard anything behind her for the past few minutes. If it had been the shapeshifter, perhaps it had realized it was walking into a trap and gone home. _Yeah right._ Anne nervously ran her hands through her hair—and abruptly yelped at the sight of a familiar figure looming before her in the fog.

Anne spun around and began to run, but her progress was brought to a rapid halt as the shapeshifter seized her forearm in an iron grip and jerked her back toward him, pulling her into his chest. Anne's eyes went wide with fear as she looked up into her captor's icy blue gaze.

"So good to see you again, my dear," he said, flashing her a grin and pulling a red ribbon out of his pocket.

Anne screamed.

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**Author's Note: **Hello, again! I'd like to apologize for the long wait. Between this chapter and the last, I've had a trip overseas, a computer crash, and a move back to college. The last two months have definitely been busy.

This is the second-to-last chapter of "Red as Blood" (unless Sam and Dean tell me otherwise…); I'll try to finish as soon as I can, but, since I'm taking eighteen hours (eek!), it might be a couple of weeks. Thanks for reading!


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